


The River

by FluxPoe



Series: Moonlit Carcasses [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Death, F/M, God(dess) of Death, You're basically a god of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29167455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluxPoe/pseuds/FluxPoe
Summary: It's like these ever falling leafs won't stop floating down your river, heaps and heaps of them.
Relationships: Erwin Smith/Reader, Erwin Smith/You
Series: Moonlit Carcasses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141184
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	The River

He's handsome —but so are quite a few of those who float down the river. His features are chiseled —but there's that big nose and those unusual eyebrows. He's still quite young —altough these things vary nation to nation, so it might not be unusual. His face isn't pained —altough the hole in his abdomen must've hurt.

You lean over the black river and hook a finger onto his cape —bodies are always so light— and reel him onto the grass on the shore. 

His seemingly muddy-blond hair drips droplets, and soon the dark liquid leaves his hair completely to reveal a much lighter shade of yellow. The cape surrounding him is dark green, a colour which you've seen plenty of in the river. At last, you cup his cheek.

* * *

There's a huge wall in front of your eyes, a calm horse awaits your command to move forward, and in the same way, everyone around you awaits to be called forward. 

You can see him now; his hair in between the swarm of people covered in green, at the front, right in the middle; you make your way over to him, looking from one person to the other, all of them faceless and unimportant. The door begins to descend, the horses huff and everyone's hold on their reins tightens.

The light breeze brings the smell of mud, grass and something sweet to your nose, delightfully refreshing. You advance.

* * *

His eyelashes are barely a darker shade than his hair, the light stubble too; it itches against your hand in a pleasurable manner.

His skin is pale, but perhaps that's just his natural colour –you don't know–, and there's small cracks on his lips, along with a few droplets of red. The stain on his shirt is already dry: blood and dirt mixed as a dark-wine colour on the cotton. But there's no grimace on his face, no weird contortion nor any other wound caused by himself in an attempt to survive. He's at ease. 

You can smell that sweet breeze, again; it leaves a slight sting in your nose, as you caress his cheek with your thumb.

* * *

You're on top of the wall —and looking forward you can see another, kilometres away. A strong wind ruffles your hair, and you can hear cloth flapping with it, too.

He stands, looking at the opposite direction you were looking at, and there's that pine-green ruffling its wings, as if he were to fly. _Ah, perhaps he'll jump_. Oh, yes, you've seen a lot of that, and yet, even when he stands only two steps away from the edge, you doubt that'll be it.

You approach him, eyeing him up and down —it's almost time, you can almost feel his heartbeat stop— until you're close enough to only want to focus on his face. A disciplined expression, an attractive profile, with only a light pink in his cheeks. 

He turns to you. _Blue_. He stares as if he could actually see you, he stares as if he knew where your eyes were; alas, he can't, but perhaps he can feel you. He doesn't look scared by it.

You look ahead, look at what he was looking. And see that shower of rocks flying below, hear those soldiers cry out in pain, fear and such delirious denial; and he doesn't even flinch. No, the blue in his eyes eases over the Titan in the distance, then analyses the carnage below. He's as still as you, as if the wind didn't bother him, either; he's thoughtful.

* * *

You look back at the river, green-enveloped presents glutting your passage: leafs that fell from a gigantic and ever-blooming tree. Your happiness seems almost unimaginable, too good to be true, and even greater when you look down at—

There's that breeze again, that untouchable euphoria. You look at his closed eyelids, remember that blue, his unwavering gaze, and you feel yourself getting excited. Of course, of course you should've known that otherworldly scent could only be the embracing of death; that almost overbearing excitement could've only come from the amount of people, oh so willing to die. To be treasured by you. 

_Yes, yes_. You exhale. Yes, you love them all, but most of all you love him –a mere mortal who could command a hundred men to die, and die willingly. 

You brush the few strands of ethereal gold that fall on his forehead. You kiss him softly, lick the blood off his lips, and drag him into the river, holding onto his hood as your own clothes soak in the almost black liquid.

You caress his cheek once more, then push him the opposite direction he and everyone else came from.

A God of Death among humans was not something you could deprive the world of —no, it wasn't something you could not take advantage of, either.

You could almost feel that breeze again, almost see more of those bodies floating right in front of you.

And one day, he'd come floating again, and you'd wake him up to look over the river by your side.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really proud of these idea: the whole "god of death" who looks at Erwin's... Achievements, let's say.
> 
> I might come and edit this layer, since I feel like there was some further potential.
> 
> Anyway, hope you like it. Any criticism, suggestions or so are greatly appreciated!


End file.
